Off to a Good Start
by Little Magnolia
Summary: Not reading a document carefully is the worst mistake anyone can make. It means missing out on some very important info, and if you're unlucky, not realizing from the get-go that you're going to be reincarnated in a world unlike your own, learn to wield weapons... and fight monsters? The latter is exactly what happened to me. SI/OC


**Notes** : _Heyyy guys. I guess you can say I got the itch to write something different this time and this is the result. It's a nice little sideline while I recover from my other story's writer's block.  
_

 _So. Yup. As it says on the tin, it's yet another SI-OC story (cue the groans). For the most part, my intention is to just write something fun and light._ _Sure, there will be serious moments and there's always going to be a touch of realism here and there (no sudden OPness, Mary Suedom, etc.), but I'll be trying to stick to the funner side of the whole reincarnation biz. Keyword being trying, since God knows what direction this story could take once it sets off. XD_

 _So with that out of the way, please read on_ — _and I hope you all enjoy it!_

* * *

 **One**

And so we Begin  


I died. That was my immediate thought after I realized I was no longer on the streets outside my apartment. Only because my last clear memory involved staring down the barrel of a gun—I doubted there would be any other end for _that_ kind of scenario. There was the fact that I'd have to be some kind of superhero or goddess to survive a bullet to the head, and then there was the fact that someone really wanted me six feet under.

So I was dead. As a doornail.

Yet to my surprise, things didn't end there.

Somehow, the gunshot that finished me off didn't signal the end of the line. Somehow, the book known as my life remained open instead of being shut with a snap, cringey and dramatic as that sounded, and somehow…

Somehow, I still managed to _exist_.

My name was Ophelia. Ophelia Winters, at your service. And as it turned out, life wasn't quite done with me just yet.

* * *

After the gunshot that ended my life on a cold, December night, I'd have thought that the first thing I'd see soon after was some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. A paradise with large, grand gates separating me from the beyond. Maybe even a long queue in a cloud-filled afterlife, with some bearded man at the front deciding whether you deserved a lot of chilling in heaven or an ass-kicking towards hell.

What I've gotten, instead, was none of the above.

"Hello, anyone there?"

Instead of seeing the light, there was the pitch-black darkness. Instead of clouds, the never-ending void that was, for reasons that defied all logic, walkable. And nope, there wasn't a single speck of color in sight, either, which had me thinking that the nihilists would be having a field day if they found this out—and the church pastors in my town, not so much.

There was _also_ no sense of time here. For obvious reasons. Not that bringing a watch to wherever this is would be of any help, anyway. I did feel like I'd been here a while now, though, judging from the way how the lack of anything was starting to get to me.

Hence my calling out to whoever and whatever could be out here.

"Silent treatment, huh? Classic. We're off to a good start, aren't we, ladies and gents?" I slowed my aimless wandering to a stop and waiting for a response.

Maybe if I put in enough of an attitude, someone would be irritated enough to answer. That usually worked when I was alive. Of course, that meant being someone's least favorite person of the day… or month… but whatever, c'est la vie!

"Anyone?"

Surprise, surprise, though, nothing came still. I raised my hands in exasperation.

"Come on, at least leave a few lights on! It's not like I'll be going anywhere, anyway."

"That, Miss Winters, remains to be seen."

"What—"

 _That_ was when the lights flipped on, one by one and on cue like something out of a theater show.

Well, almost. At first, the light was so blinding I thought I was saying adieu to my vision forever. Everything was just so… _white_. I couldn't help but think that, maybe, this was it. The end of my world as I knew it.

But then it faded. And when it did, I didn't find myself standing on a stage and getting ready to humiliate myself. Thank God. But then I didn't find myself in whatever kind of afterlife stuff my mind conjured (tropical beach, me in a bikini, the bright sun above and maybe, if I'm lucky, a hot guy... or two) either. Instead, I was in the last kind of location I'd expect myself to be in.

Yours truly was in courthouse.

A _courthouse_ , of all places. With the marble floor, the several rows of polished, wooden chairs at the back, the long table at the front (with matching gavel and block), and everything. Even a fake plant at the corner of the room.

Better yet, from where I was standing, _I_ was going to be the one standing on trial.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I said in disbelief.

"Don't jump to any conclusions just yet," the person, a bespectacled woman sitting behind the long table, said with a smirk. With that attire of hers, she wouldn't look out of place in a business conference. "This may look like what you think it is, but my dear girl, we are anything _but_ conventional."

"And it's because of your stunts that we get in trouble more often than not." Another person.

This time, it was a disinterested-looking man slouching back on his chair, arms crossed. He also wore a suit, but it wasn't as well-kept as the other woman's. Nor was his hair, for that matter; either the hair gel outright refused to work on his hair or a bird recently nested there.

"I'd told her to just do this by-the-book and be done with it, but nooo, she says. Where's the fun in that?" He shook his head. "Really, Cortez, it's not like we'll be seeing any of them again."

"All the more reason to make a lasting impression, I'd say. Not to mention have a bit of fun," Ms. Cortez said—I was pretty sure that was a surname. "Don't be such a bore, Brown. Your last name's already doing that for you."

"Nobody appreciates your work ethic, either. If you could even call it that. Have you forgotten how many complaints were filed against us by the souls that had to go through you?"

And then someone else groaned in annoyance.

"Oh, tone it down, you two, and save the declarations of love for later," the third person said.

This one was a sleepy-looking female who, if not for that soft, feminine voice, could actually pass off as a guy with that short hair and those indistinctive features. And body. Her head was resting on top of her folded arms on the table, and she was seconds away from going back to dreamland.

"I've got sleep to catch up on," she added.

"You're always asleep, Yan," the other two then said. In unison, and in perfect sync. I wondered if the two ever thought of starting a sit-com.

Still, this little scene in front of me made me start doubting whether I really did die in the first place. It _was_ possible that my assailant had shoddy aim and the bullet ended up grazing my skull... right? Maybe I had some kind of divine intervention happen that would convert me from my heathen ways. Or something.

I mean, for all I knew I could've been in a medically-induced coma all this time and the drugs were just messing with my brain. This whole scenario was starting to feel more and more like something out of a crazy dream. Well, minus the psychedelics.

I guess there was only one way to find out. God help me.

"Okay…" I interrupted them with a long drawl. I crossed my arms. "Time out. Seeing you three get along so well is nice and all, I think I'd want to know why this—whatever this is—is happening in the first place, thanks."

The three would have probably forgotten I was there if I hadn't spoken up; the surprised looks on their faces as they regarded me was proof enough. Finally, comprehension struck them and, fortunately for me, they had the decency to look mildly embarrassed as they got their crap back together.

It was all back to business after that. Well, for the most part; Ms. Yan had gone right back to sleep while Ms. Cortez cleared her throat—and straightened her posture—and Mr. Brown… okay, if it counted as 'going back to business,' he slouched even further into his chair.

"Miss Winters," the woman then began. "You stand before us, in this very moment, to be judged for all your actions during your time in the world of the living… well, for the most part, but that's beside the point. Should you not be found wanting, you will be granted access to an afterlife of your choosing. You will also be allowed to decide how, exactly, you want to spend your time post-death if you feel that you are more suited for the other options. Those will be discussed at length once this is over."

She gave me a nod.

"Now, if _you_ are found otherwise, you will be sent somewhere else. After that you will never be heard from, ever again."

Snippets of my life immediately invaded my mind. Of the times when I'd been the perfect little girl in my parents eyes… and of the times when I'd been a horrible sister to my siblings, growing up. Not to mention my rebellious teenager phase that toned down into a dull life past my twenties that involved work, work, and more work that was balanced out by lonely, liquor-filled nights. Well, okay, those were laced with the occasional one-night stand, but only when someone could actually put up with my presence.

And then there was the cause for my death…

Crap.

"Is everything clear, Miss Winters?"

"Um. Crystal."

"Good," she said. A playful smile formed on her face as she took note of the unease in my face. "Very good."

Then she stared at her partner, Mr. Cortez. From the way she did it, though, it honestly qualified more as a full-force glare. After a few seconds, Mr. Brown grumbled something under his breath and spoke next.

"Fine, I'll start. Even if it's the most boring part of this whole thing ever." He started consulting the sheets of papers I swore hadn't been on the table earlier. "So. According to these data, your childhood's been nothing special. You're the eldest of three, a veritable nightmare for your parents, and you had the typical kind of childhood where you cried about stupid things and got away with whatever transgressions you brats your age tend to make. Hardly something that influences what our decision about you is going to be because you're all the same."

Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

"If it's not that big a deal, why the mention?" I asked.

"Protocol." He scowled as if the very word did him a personal offense. "Believe me, I don't even know why that's still a thing. Even when there's a separate case for those diagnosed with psychosis at an early age, let alone those with red flags in their backgrounds..."

Ms. Cortez promptly elbowed him. Mr. Brown shot her an unamused glare but said no more.

"It's as you said, Brown. _Protocol_. Miss Winters, do ignore him," the woman said. She clapped her hands. "Anyway! In regards to your teenage phase… let's face it, this is where the road gets truly bumpy. But despite your faults, you never crossed any lines—hardcore drugs, lawbreaking, to name a few—that would have severely… say, swung things against your favor. Not that this phase in life is any less interesting."

The woman's smirk was back again. "Your relationship with your siblings is fine, and is certainly nothing impressive. You fight sometimes, as all siblings do, but at the end of the day you know you can depend on each other. Your parents, on the other hand… you constantly rebelled against them. But only because your mindsets vastly contrasted each other. They are… traditional in thinking, as you'd put it?"

She was definitely right in saying that this was hardly a typical trial. Other than the fact that I would have had an attorney assigned to me if otherwise, if anything, this felt more like a job interview. Or maybe a psychiatric evaluation.

"Yup," I said with a nod. "Comes with growing up a city girl when Daddy and Mommy Dearest lived a very rural life." Then as an afterthought, I added, "And in a very different generation."

"Of course, of course. But your situation has also resulted to an interesting side-effect of you becoming a star in your high school debate club."

I shrugged. "You'd be surprised at how much you'll have to improve your arguing skills just to make your stubborn parents see your point of view. And agree with it."

"And it certainly would have been a good run… had you not been kicked out after a controversy involving you and the captain of the football team."

"Hey!" I quickly objected. "That had been a one-time thing, and all we did was complete that anatomy paper we, an _assigned pair_ , needed to submit the next day. It wasn't even _that_ kind of anatomy—we both got an A on the topic."

I swore that bitch during senior year was jumping to conclusions—I knew for a fact that the guy was taken in the first place. He just really wanted to ace that paper to secure his grades and, consequently, his scholarship… wait a minute. I returned my focus towards the three stooges before me.

I knew it.

After having seen the way I reacted earlier, Mr. Brown couldn't help but snicker. Ms. Yan, on the other hand, had a faint smile on her face, though whether that was because of a dream or my predicament, I didn't know. And Ms. Cortez, she just sat there with a knowing smile and her eyes twinkling in sheer amusement.

They wanted to get under my skin a bit. Ha-ha, guys. Very funny. Poke fun at the dead-soul-that-might-not-be-dead-after-all, why don't you.

"So defensive. But no worries, you're not doomed. Not quite yet," Ms. Cortez said. "Now, you eventually graduated high school, then college, and sometime in-between, managed to find a job to support yourself with. After you've earned a sufficient amount, you rented an apartment and moved away from your parents' home. You still meet them on occasion, but your conversations are forced at best."

"I still talked to my brother and sister from time to time, just to catch up on things," I said. "But after what's happened… I doubt I could even send them so much as a postcard."

"Unless you contact them from the grave and scare the cverloving crap out of them." Mr. Brown shrugged.

"Is that a possibility?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yes, but it's not recommended." He didn't bother elaborating more than that. "Nice of you to bring up the main reason we're having this bothersome session in the first place, though. It's really worth discussing about.."

He exchanged glances with Ms. Cortez as if to confirm they were really doing it… whatever it was.

Ms. Cortez gave him a simple nod and turned back to me.

"Indeed," Ms. Cortez said. "It's true that we had to go through all the finer details of your life's history. Necessary, in fact. But as Brown has said…"

It was after she uttered those words that I realized something in Ms. Cortez had changed. Her once-playful stare now turned into something entirely different—something piercing. When she might have resembled a cat earlier with the way she toyed with her food—said food being me—she might as well have transformed into a tiger and bit my head off.

I most definitely didn't like where this suddenly headed.

"It's those specific events that culminated to your death that stood out to us in particular."

And just like that, gone was the lighter atmosphere of earlier. I couldn't feel anything but a chill in the air as the rest of them now regarded me with an air of authority that reminded me who, in this room, was really the boss. Even Ms. Yan had woken up from her slumber, and she was staring right at me with those droopy—but unmistakably serious—eyes.

The trepidation I'd felt then was more than enough to make me believe that maybe this all wasn't a dream, after all.

"To think, you would have continued living a borderline uneventful life, with all the ups and downs that came with it, had you decided to stay away from affairs not concerning you," Mr. Brown said. Though his voice hadn't reached a shouting volume, it was definitely louder now. "You know damn well what we're talking about."

It all came back to me as if the whole affair just happened a minute ago.

 _A dark room, moonlight shining through the open window. The cooling body of a man freshly slain. A knife on his chest, stabbed there for the third and final time. Blood on the floor. On my two hands._

The memory made me shudder all over. But there was more to it than that. There was—

"That's right. Miss Winters, you've committed a murder that eventually resulted to the loss of your own life," Ms. Cortez said. "Perhaps if you hadn't come into contact with Mr. Greene, he would have still lived to this day. Perhaps if you didn't have 'a talk' with him, his wife would have had no reason to come after you—especially after that trial. Yes, the one that had you walking away without so much as a pair of handcuffs on your wrists. In fact, there wouldn't have been any trial at all."

I tried to interject, but it was to no avail.

"Definitely not your wisest moment there…" Ms. Yan said in agreement, ignoring my outburst. She also yawned a bit before continuing. "You just had to stick your nose in someone else's business. Nosy, nosy, nosy."

"But I was—"

"Yeah, no kidding. This is a pretty huge stain on your record, Winters." Mr. Brown nodded. He finally leaned back into his seat again. "I'm pretty sure what the verdict here is going to be."

After that, the three just proceeded to lay it all on me. First, they started with how I should have left the issue I had with Mr. Greene to the authorities. Then they commented about how I should've discussed things civilly, how naive I'd been to think that things would end up just fine, and then from there it was just one thing after another that shed me in a really negative light. All the while not letting me say anything in-between.

That was when I finally snapped.

"Oh my _God_ , if you'll just let me talk, I can explain myself!" I said. Well, more like yelled because it was made apparent that loud voices caught their attention more. After I managed to get their attention, I said, "Maybe if I managed to have a say here, I would've said that it hadn't been murder, but instead an act of _self-defense_."

"Three stabs to the chest says otherwise," Ms. Cortez idly said.

"Yeah, well, it happens when you're about to get stabbed by the same knife yourself," I replied. I knew I might have been too sarcastic there, but I couldn't help myself. "And seriously, _he_ called me to his place. Said he wanted to talk to me. I'll admit, me agreeing to do so in the hopes that I could get him to leave my little sister alone for good was a dumb move. Turns out he was pretty unhinged and our 'conversation' went south pretty quickly." I shook my head.

They stared at me in such incredulity that I immediately backtracked.

"Okay, I might've helped worsen the situation by being abrasive…" I also realized I had a lock of my hair in a vice grip—a bad habit of mine when I got nervous—and let go immediately. "But, dammit, he'd almost raped my sister. Maybe, for just that moment, I thought I could do something to help her in my own way. But I swear, violence was the last thing on my mind."

I'd thought that suing the guy or something would just cost me money I or my family didn't have. That was why I agreed with having that talk. Guess whom karma bit in the ass for not trying to do better.

It was true, though. He almost did manage to have his way with my sister. I could still remember the way her eyes shone with tears after she came home one day. She'd nearly slammed the door shut. I'd asked her what was wrong, but all she did was say a shaky 'I'm fine' and rushed to her room without letting me say anything. She'd been silent for days until I finally cornered her and got her to confess.

After that, I contacted the asshole through Facebook since he had one and we had a nice little talk—a talk he wanted to turn into a personal one after I confronted him about what he'd done. He sent me his address, I cleared my schedule, and off I went and made a disaster of everything. There was the trial following suit and ending in my favor (my self-defense plea worked out… and, well, it turned out that the man had taken some illegal drugs during the time we'd 'talked'), and at the end the wife of the man was in so much denial she decided it was all my fault and ended up shooting me after a confrontation that went south, too.

I also explained that story to them to further prove I wasn't anything like a psychopathic asshole.

"We know." The three of them said.

"So really, you guys are being unfair and—" I took a double-take and stared at the three with wide eyes. "What?"

The three had identical smirks on their faces.

"We know that you've been innocent all along," Ms. Cortez said. She actually chuckled in amusement. "We know that you never had any ill intentions, that you'd been hoping to resolve things peacefully. Plus, for all your bravado, you've still been a bit frightened because he's higher up on the food chain, so to say." After noticing my shocked expression, she chuckled. "It's quite alright, you needn't admit that to us or to yourself."

"And because, overall, your record doesn't have any major stains that would raise a lot of red flags…"—Ms. Yan nodded, a faint smile having formed on her face, too—"You're fine. No getting sent to whatever hell will be assigned to you." She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Sorry about our stunt earlier, by the way. It's just a little test we do from time to time… Nothing personal."

I decided not to bother asking what exactly they were looking for when they'd 'tested' me. "So… I'm fine."

"You're fine," Mr. Brown said in confirmation. He grinned. "The look on your face _had_ been priceless, though."

Why I oughta—you know what? No. I'd rather feel too relieved about finally being freed from suspicion even if I'd been basically pranked. Better to be glad I wasn't getting sent to hell or some equally horrid place, just because I did something that would still be considered bad.

"So what's the verdict, then? Do I finally get to go to the afterlife?" I asked.

Say yes. Please say yes so we can all move with our lives and forget this ever happened. I mean, I _was_ out of the woods now, right? This would be the part when things wound down and everyone would be all kumbaya and stuff at the end.

But then Mr. Brown shook his head.

"Nope. Not exactly."

" _What_?" That came out louder than intended. "Why?"

Ms. Yan pointed to the sheet of papers at the table. Then she yawned. Again. "Because, while you've contributed to your society, your data sheets have shown that you haven't done enough to qualify for entry into the afterlife. To be more specific, you haven't earned enough 'points' for a permanent or a temporary stay."

She shrugged.

"And before you ask how those points are accumulated, let's just say they're pretty complicated stuff with jargon and requirements only familiar and logical to us. Plus, accidental murder or otherwise, that's still a spot on your record."

"Then what happens now?"

Was I going to be stuck in limbo? Or, worse, stuck in a _dark_ limbo where my sanity would erode overtime until I could barely make sense of anything? Hell, without company to, ahem, spend time with? It sounded a lot worse than hell to me, whatever hell was like.

"Easy." Ms. Cortez grinned. "You'll instead be reincarnated. Mind you, you're still free to lead your second life whatever way you wish—we still advocate free will, just that you have to deal with the consequences of your actions and you'll be judged accordingly once you're back here—but until you've earned enough for acceptance in the afterlife, you might find yourself living all sorts of lives for the meantime."

"I still think whoever thought of the whole 'points' system is stupid," Mr. Brown said, earning what seemed like a foot stomp from Ms. Cortez. Well, it seemed that way, judging from the way he'd grimaced after some slight movement from the woman.

"That said, you also have the option of, say, returning to your world as a spirit. If you're so inclined. But…" Ms. Yan yawned, slumped back down on the table, shut her eyes, and fell fast asleep. The realization that she'd trailed off just like that never occurred to her.

No amount of shoulder-tapping or bumping (or even blowing wind on her ears, courtesy of Mr. Brown) woke her up.

"…But you're on your own from that point forward and if you're exorcised, say farewell to your existence. Permanently," Ms. Cortez finished for her, albeit a bit awkwardly. She grimaced at the idea of going ghost. "You've no idea the amount of souls that thought _that_ was a good idea. Suffice to say, they won't be around to send postcards."

 _Because they_ _'re just gone_ , was the unspoken implication. Just erased from existence like a vulgar drawing on a white board. Which… was not an appealing thought. Even if there was an option to haunt the living daylights out of the bitch that shot me dead. They did say the best revenge was enjoying life and proving how little the offender mattered…

"Reincarnation it is."

"Good!" Ms. Cortez made it sound more like her intention was to have me saying that all along. "Then we'll send you on your way right now. All we need for you to do now is come forward, review these papers, and sign the contract."

I nodded and moved towards the table, leaning forward until I could see the papers themselves. I could've sworn there wasn't a quill and an ink bottle there before, either, like _blink-blink_ , and it was there. But I decided that stranger things have happened and got on with it.

So. The contract. And some supporting documents. From the looks of it, the contract contained the standard terms and agreements that, by now, most people knew. The other papers, on the other hand, had these sections with checkboxes beside them. Which was fine and dandy... except the shimmering ink was making my eyes burn the longer I stared at the text. What I could make out from the letters, however, didn't make a lick of sense.

...Memory retention? Aura capacity? _Faunus_? What?

Oh well. I figured that whatever those stuff were about, they couldn't possibly be _that_ important. I skipped right to the bottom of the contract itself. Several fancy loops later, I was done.

"Ah, there we go. All settled quite nicely," Ms. Cortez said, reaching for the sheets of paper. I've caught a glimpse of my data sheet on the side as I handed the contract over, but I never got so much as a sentence registered in my mind. Believe it or not, the whole thing was written in an entirely different language that didn't remotely resemble anything, well, from Earth. Think original language from a fantasy video game or something similar.

"What now?" I asked.

"Now," Mr. Brown said, consulting the watch on his wrist. "You'll be sent to your next life in three…"

Light started shimmering from where I stood. More specifically, from my feet—which I now couldn't see. The whole spectacle was so hypnotic I couldn't tear my gaze from it.

"Two…"

The light then reached my waist, creeping upward and upward like water in a stream.

"One."

Now there was nothing but light at all.

Then… darkness.

* * *

After seeing to their latest assignment's conclusion, Maria Cortez finally discarded her "professional" behavior and slumped on her chair.

"Well, that's one more soul dealt with," she said to her partner, Joshua Brown. "And sent to the right world, this time. Remnant's always short on souls—the moment we send a new batch, another gets prematurely sent back. It's hell on the paperwork."

"No kidding," the man said. He loosened his tie (damn thing was strangling his neck) and set off to review the contract Ophelia Winters had signed, just to make sure that everything was consistent.

If he was going to be quite honest to himself, though, he actually felt sorry for that soul recently sent to live there. Especially when she'd opted not to check the boxes that would have enabled her to reincarnate without her past memories. For ease of transition, of course. For that matter, there were no checks for whatever special skills were necessary in helping her survive in a world full of monsters, either. Or for the preferred time period… or for, well, any other benefit granted by the contract…

He paused, realizing something.

Uh-oh.

"Hey, Cortez."

"Yes?"

"I don't think Miss Winters bothered specifying the conditions of her reincarnation."

At first, Maria seemed confused, her brows furrowing as she stared at Joshua. The man simply handed her the papers in response. Her keen eyes were then quick to scan over every section, subsection, even sub-subsection… and confirmed that, indeed, all the soul did was sign the contract. Nothing more, nothing less. She had to admit, however, that Miss Winters' signature was quite a fancy one. Definitely well-executed.

But still.

"Goodness. You'd have thought she'd have had a little more sense than that," Maria said. "Haven't a lot of people screwed themselves over for not reading fine prints or simply the entire thing?"

"No kidding." He groaned and massaged his temple; what a headache. "What do we do now, though? The last time this happened, the other branches in the afterlife system had... Gah, I don't even want to remember."

Maria winced and wholeheartedly agreed. That had been a very messy affair.

"Just randomize the answers and be done with it," Melinda Yan murmured from the side. She opened one eye and looked at the two. "After last time's incident, that's no longer disallowed. Can't believe you lovebirds forgot that…"

The other two considered the idea as Melinda went right back to sleep. Then, seconds later, they nodded. All the while ignoring the lovebirds comment.

"Well… considering that Miss Winters hadn't been responsible enough to read each and every word carefully…" Maria watched the sheets of paper glow briefly for a second. It took a second before they faded and revealed which sections were answered and which boxes were checked. Ah, magic, ever so reliable.

Joshua nodded as he reached for the papers, arranged them, and filed them for submission to Soul Dispatch. "She'll just have to deal with the consequences of the random assignment system."

"Although, I must admit… perhaps we need to file in a suggestion to replace the ink used for the contracts and all other documents. It _is_ quite the eye strain, isn't it?"

Joshua stared at the papers and blinked several times five seconds later. "Come to think of it, it is."

* * *

 **A/N:** _Okay, I miiiiiight have enjoyed that a little too much. Or maybe that was the sleep deprivation getting to me. I don't know. Don't worry, though. The more specific details about Ophelia's new identity are certainly going to be on the next chapter._

 _And as per usual, I'm definitely going over this again after I get some sleep. Fix up grammar mistakes and all other errors... you know the drill. Anywho, see you next chapter, and feel free to favorite, follow, or review!_


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